


More Deadly than the Male

by Linstock



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Angst, F/M, Master/Slave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linstock/pseuds/Linstock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Spock had thought “the female of the species is more deadly than the male” was another illogical human expression… he's learnt a lot since then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Deadly than the Male

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Querulouspeg as part of the New Year Exchange at Spock/Uhura. The request stated, Q generously gave a wide range of options but noted “Love Mirror-verse. Vulcan Love Slave would be awesome.” I decided to try this…once you’ve read, let me know if I succeeded.  
> Warnings: This story is a dark Mirror-verse fic. It deals with non-con, sexual slavery, unintentional self-harm and angst. If any of this could be triggering do not read this fic. You cannot unread something you’ve read. Look after yourself.  
> The illustrated version of this story in available at  
>  http://issuu.com/linstock/docs/deadlier_than_the_male_by_linstock?mode=window

# More Deadly than the Male

 

_For the female of the species is more deadly than the male._

Rudyard Kipling

 

**An instinctive yearning for a dark secluded place.**

I had no experience and could not read the signs. In a normal world, those with familial bonds, grandparents, father, mother, older siblings, would have understood what I did not, and guided me. But this is the Empire; “normal” is an aberration. And I had no bonds. I was alone, striving to maintain some vestige of integrity while surrounded by cruelty, destruction and deceit.

I had just witnessed … no - I won’t prevaricate - I had participated in the humiliation and subjugation of a peaceful, elegant society.  I had located their museums and galleries; assigned crew to plunder them; accounted for the populace, and provided coordinates of government buildings, schools and homes to Kirk. I had killed the guardians of the Treasury and Government Records Offices. But the ruthless, violent excesses and sexual depravities of my Captain and his crew disgusted me.

My emotional responses were heightened; at first I believed this was because of my exhaustion and revulsion at the sadistic extremes of human behavior. Even my warrior ancestors were not so needlessly  destructive of life, dignity and innocence.

In the quiet sanctuary of the central library - a temple to peace and learning, storing the knowledge of centuries - the terrified screams of women and children echoed in my mind as I reviewed the local geography. When I saw the caverns marked on a geological survey map of the region, something deep inside me unfurled and insisted “yes” … an instinctive yearning for a dark, secluded place.

Still I didn’t understand.

The Captain granted me a few days’ leave to explore the region. He hardly registered my request…he was so deeply immersed in his abuse and subjugation of this world’s cultured people.

I commandeered a ground vehicle and fled the city, alone. 

 

**The suspended moments before life drained away.**

Deep in the caves I learned the truth. It was my time.

I meditated, and for a time I held the fire at bay. But without familial bonds I had no anchors to secure me as my interior flames grew, consuming all thought, and I was swept away.  When the madness of the firestorm first took me, I tore off my clothes, unable to tolerate even the sensation of material against my skin.  I fought shadow battles against insubstantial specters that only existed in my insanity. I raged. I pounded the rock walls screaming out my fury and anguish. Sometimes terror overwhelmed me and I slid in whimpering dread along the rough rock, scraping my back raw as I tried to elude the phantasms of my burning mind. Blood oozed down my back, falling unnoticed to the cavern floor. I howled and raged, screaming until I was gasping, tasting copper in my bloodied throat.

Most degrading was my need to rut.  Naked and filthy, deeply ashamed, I crouched for many hours in the darkest corner of the cave, continuously and feverishly masturbating. I was tormented by visions of the brutality I had witnessed as First Officer of the ISS Enterprise … the Captain’s usual “strategy” for breaking the will of a population was sexual debasement and torture.

The scents and sounds of sex filled my mind.  After a long time, trembling with fatigue and worn with hunger, I lay prone and rutted frantically into my aching hand, crushing it against the rough floor. Nothing gave relief. 

Finally, as my energy ebbed, I lay supine, devoid of the energy needed to close my hand around my lok.  Dirt gritting into the wounds on my back, I writhed as I burnt.

Toward the end I lay quiescent on the cave floor … a dirt- and semen-encrusted, starving, dehydrated creature.  Surveying my body. I saw prominent ribs, each one distinct, below them the hollow of my stomach. I was covered with bruises and deep abrasions. Yet as I hovered on the verge of death my erection still jutted, painfully engorged.

The madness was no longer an inferno. It smoldered remotely in my mind as I waited for the end.  I felt I drifted inches above the sand in the suspended moments before my life drained away as easily as the blood from my self-inflicted wounds seeped into the sandy floor beneath me.

She came to me as I lay helpless.

I opened my bleary encrusted eyes, saw her long booted legs, and lost consciousness.

**A razor of pure pleasure**

I sensed her kneeling beside me. When she stroked her fingertips down my chest and over my stomach it was as if she had sliced me with a razor of pure pleasure. When her hand circled my member I groaned aloud, arching into her grip.

“Commander Spock, we have business to transact.”

I realized who she was … Lieutenant Uhura.

She ran her hands back up my torso; fire trailed where she touched.  Then the touch was gone. My eyes flew open and the madness peered out.  Uhura looked down into my burning gaze and smiled.  

With one swift movement she pulled off her midriff-baring uniform top, revealing her small conical breasts. Her nipples were surprisingly large and dark, the plump aureolas dimpling and contracting in the cool air of the cave.  The fire of madness roared. I tried to lift my arm but could barely move. She noticed the small movement and smiled, leaning forward so her breasts swayed before me. 

“Do you want to taste these, Commander Spock?” she purred.

No man dying of thirst needed water as much as I needed her.  I felt the madness grow and flow, burning down my arms as tortured, starved muscles struggled to return to life.

She removed the rest of her clothes; I drank in every curve of her. She was fortunate I was so weak. Had I been able to move, I would have pulled her to the floor and had her there and then …. I would have lifted her high and slowly lowered her onto my engorged lok bruising her with my grip as I thrust into her.  My eyes showed my thoughts and I saw she knew.

She stood astride me and looked down, her long black hair loose, cascading down her back. My gaze was riveted on the delicate lips nestling in the black hair at the juncture of her legs. I managed to move my arms just enough to touch each of her ankles.

She smiled broadly showing her even white teeth.

She knelt and her buttocks grazed my erection. I cried out in pain, panting as desire surged. I tried again to lift my arms, but could not.  She took my battered hands and placed them on her thighs. Rising up slightly she reached back, pointed my erection into her keshtan-ur1 and lowered onto me. The world exploded in sensation. She pushed down, and then rose up, twice, three times … then it was over.

She sat back and said coolly, “I hope you can do better than _that_.”

Keeping me sheathed inside her, she leaned forward. As her breasts brushed my sand-caked, blood-smeared torso the dirt rubbed onto her perfect coffee colored nipples. She whispered, “Never mind. I suppose you've waited a long time. But so have I, Spock.”

It didn't make any sense … then.

She stroked my face and her fingers gently brushed my psi points. I couldn’t breathe. A new, deeper utterly compelling hunger awoke. My mind reached out, tendrils flailing, seeking. I thought I’d known desperation, now I learned otherwise. The impact of this new yearning disoriented me as she bent her face and kissed my parched, cracked lips.

 

**The seeking tendrils.**

Suddenly she sat up, stood and walked away. When I cried out with loss, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “Patience,” she said, “I’ll be back.” I could only watch her perfectly rounded buttocks and the smooth curve of her back as she walked out of my line of sight.

When Uhura returned she held two bottles. Once again she straddled me and I felt a cool stickiness smear across my stomach when she sat.  Opening one bottle, she held it to my lips, dribbling it in … water. I drank thirstily, half lapping, half sucking at the bottle. She poured some water over my face making me blink rapidly to clear my eyes. Gently she washed away some of the grime.

“There you are,” she said, as if talking to a naughty child. She seemed playful and excited.  The smaller of the two bottles had a teat-like end and she placed this between my lips, put one hand under my jaw and squeezed the bottle.  Foul tasting liquid filled my mouth. I jerked and tried to turn my head. She held me firmly saying, “No you don’t. Just drink a little, you need this.” She held me until I swallowed.  The liquid scalded all the way to my stomach but I felt strength returning.

Part of my mind began to work again and I realized the foul liquid was some form of stimulant.  Uhura gave me more water.

“Let’s try again.” She leaned forward and kissed me.

Her mouth was warm and sweet as she ran her lips across mine. I slowly raised my arms, my hands coming up to cup her head pulling her to me. My tongue met hers, running over its surface, and new urgency suffused me. I rolled over, pinning her to the ground. I lay over her panting, nearly frantic, my heart pounding painfully in my side.  

“What is it you want?” she whispered urgently. “Take it Spock, take it.”

My trembling hands moved clumsily. I needed three attempts to position my fingers over her connection points.  I felt … nothing … silence!  Anger flashed through me; I felt the desire to lash out.  I groped for her hands. Understanding what I wanted, Uhura placed her fingers perfectly over my psi points. Sobbing with need, I replaced my fingers.

At last.

Soothing warmth suffused me, and I felt the many intricate connections that comprised a bond wrap gently around each other like the seeking tendrils of a climbing vine. I moaned with relief as the connection formed.  I was no longer alone.

But something was wrong. The gentle touch of connection gripped and tightened.  A biting, piercing pain flared in my mind. This was not the heat of the madness; it was a pure-white perfect pain.  The tendrils from Uhura’s mind seemed to grow spines and hooks, digging deep into mine and locking them in place.

Nothing existed but pain.

 

**A shame surpassing any other I had ever known.**

I was trapped.  My mind struggled with the panic of a wild creature caught in a trap. Soothing sensations flooded across the bond as Uhura stroked my face.

“Don’t struggle, you’ll only hurt yourself, hush now,” she crooned.

I had no sense of time. Over and over my heart rate slowed and my breathing steadied, then waves of primal fear would spear though me as my mind struggled and thrashed.  I tried to think, to prise the hooking thorns away but there were too many … so many.  Eventually I realized we’d changed position again. She sat over me and smoothed her hands up my arms and across my chest.

“Don’t fight this,” she murmured gently as she stroked my face. I jerked away, anger and disgust rising in me like vomit.

“Now, don’t be like that.” Her voice was firm. “What is, is. Accept and adapt. We can work together. Let’s see, shall we?” She closed her eyes and frowned slightly.

I felt tendrils of warmth working though my mind, small ripples of pleasure moving along my body. She smiled.

“That’s not so bad is it? Let’s try something else.”

I felt my body responding to her and experienced a shame surpassing any other I had ever known.  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Spock, it’s all perfectly logical, bio-logical in fact.”  I could feel her pleasure at the play on words.

She lowered her head and kissed me. I clamped my lips shut. “Oh dear, you’re going to be difficult, aren’t you? Pleasure or pain, it’s your choice, Spock.” She sighed and I felt a brief instant of pain, then a wave of lust crashed over me. 

As my body betrayed me, from a distant corner of my mind I shouted “I do not consent!”

Her reply came softly, “Irrelevant.”

My servitude had begun.

**A legend of old Vulcan.**

Nyota helped me to the ground vehicle and drove to a nearby stream.  It was a tranquil, secluded place. There she helped me wash and I sat on a flat rock as she carefully tended my injuries and gave me a ration bar to eat.

Nyota seemed elated and energized, chattering constantly.  I sat, silently struggling with the combined effects of Pon Farr2, starvation and betrayal. It was the only time she ever spoke of what she’d done; though I remember little of what she said.

She put her arms around me and, caressing my head as a mother might, told me a story, a legend of old Vulcan, harking back to ancient times when warlike Vulcans abducted and forcibly bonded with mates.  It was the tale of T’Shana, matriarch of a small insignificant clan in ancient times who captured a powerful prince from a neighboring clan just before his time.  T’Shana imprisoned the prince, allowing him to endure the Plak tau3 until he lay at the brink of death, all his defenses removed.  Then she invaded and occupied his mind. 

I don’t remember the rest of the story of intrigue and conquest. 

“So you see,” Nyota said, resting her chin on my shoulder, “you shouldn’t feel too bad.  You’re not the first prince seized this way.  It’s quite historical when you think about it.  Very Vulcan … and I know how you like being ‘very Vulcan’.” Retrieving the medikit, she started tending the wounds on my arms.

I have never learned how she acquired her mental skills, though I believe I have caught glimpses in her nightmares.

Nyota babbled on, mentioning Romulans, Reman4, the great ancient Vulcan monasteries of Wank’gan5 and Plesh’e’tar5.  

She said, “If knowledge exists, there’s always a way to find it … if you’re prepared to take the risks.” I remember this, because for the first time since we entered the glade she was serious. But she shook herself and kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, “You men don’t understand … it’s ro’fori’kosu’tsat6.”

When she finished healing me, she had me stand and walked around, inspecting my body minutely, trailing her fingers lightly over me or smoothing the planes of my body with the palm of her hand.  I ached with humiliation.  When she was satisfied all visible traces of my ordeal were erased she stepped forward and touched my face. 

“This goes,” she said, giving my beard a small tug. She lifted the hem of her skirt to display the tops of her thighs, the abrasion of “beard rash” clear on her skin. “See that? No more.”

She held out a small bag.  I balked. “ _Now,_ ” she said and I felt a quick, painful jerk on my mental leash.  I took the bag and walked to the water’s edge, my feet feeling like lead.  I heard the hum of the dermal regenerator Uhura was using on her inner thighs as I slumped to my knees and began the process of scraping my identity away.  

**Her status was entirely her own.**

Once I had thought I possessed an acceptable degree of self-insight. I have learned otherwise.  Over time I have realized my own arrogance was my undoing.

I’d observed the crew, seen their crude machinations, their transparent motives, how they manipulated, and betrayed each other.  I’d believed I understood their interactions as completely as the chemical reactions in a test tube. And I’dconsidered myself above such things … superior.

Of course I’d noticed Lieutenant Uhura. I saw her every day. She was chief of communications; her workstation stood next to mine.  From the first I knew she was beautiful.  I quickly perceived she was also dangerous, and not only with her razor-sharp knife.

I’d seen but not understood the importance of what I saw. Usually on the ISS Enterprise – and throughout the Imperial fleet – a female secured her status by forming an alliance with a powerful male. This status was not dependent on rank alone. They became the “Lieutenant’s woman” or “Captain's woman”. The connection was flaunted and tokens of the relationship, anything from jewelry to scratches and bite marks, were displayed as obviously as rank stripes. 

With Uhura this was not the case. I knew some had tried to claim her.  Sulu wore the marks of his failure as openly as others wore their tokens of success. Her status was entirely her own. Aside from her golden arm bracelet of rank, the only jewelry she wore was her earrings and I had never seen a mark on her.  For all I knew she had never been marked, or else she was careful to remove any trace of another from her skin.  Now I know.

We worked effectively as a team.  There is more overlap between the science and communication stations than many realize and it is no accident that the stations are side by side. A principle function of both is taking readings and interpreting signals, it is often only in the intent of interpretation that they differ.

Lieutenant Uhura was highly skilled. She researched deeply into the cultural background of every language she spoke, including Vulcan.  She had asked me many probing questions about Vulcan culture in the guise of research and I’d never thought to wonder why.

It wasn't until much later I realized the extent of my oversight.

**A bitter truth.**

My response to servitude was entirely emotional. When I felt the gentle tug in my mind as she summoned me I fought like a lematya struggling against a strangling vine. Finally, exhausted, like the trapped animal I was, I acquiesced to her wishes.

As a child I was told repeatedly I was stubborn to the point of illogic. Now this stubbornness reared its head and railed, refusing to comply even … and this truth cut deepest … even if I _wanted_ to.  Slowly I realized that behind my stubbornness lay pride.

Following that insight, a bitter truth crawled into my awareness like a spider from under a rock: the reason I served on the ship of humans was because of my pride.  I could have served on a Vulcan science vessel, or one of the Vulcan clan ships that led the way in deep space exploration. Vulcan stoicism and logic made them less susceptible to the psychological pressures other races suffered in deep space. The Empire knew and valued Vulcans for this. But I chose to serve on a Starship, virtually guaranteed to be the only Vulcan crew member. Amongst Vulcans I was too human; here I could play the epitome of a Vulcan an act of pride, choosing to be, as the humans might say, a big fish in a small – polluted –  pond.

Following this insight … came others.

**The man in the mirror.**

I was working extra hours in the lab when I felt a gentle pressure in my mind.  Nyota required me.  I continued my work, ignoring her.  Another, stronger pull came. I continued with my task, struggling to override the compulsion to go to her and slowly it faded. I felt a small surge of pleasure. I had won this round.

I was crossing the lab carrying a tray of vials when I felt a sudden vicious summons. My hands reflexively released the tray; the vials shattered around my feet, scattering shards across the floor.

Barking an order for the startled lab assistants to clear up the mess, I left.  There was no choice. This was not an invitation, this was a summons. She called … I obeyed.

Nyota was angry and she wasn’t gentle.  She opened the links between our minds, scalding me with the intensity of her need and igniting my own.  That night Nyota was relentless. 

Finally she was replete and secluded herself to bathe and remove the marks left by my fingers and teeth.

I was crossing her bedroom when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and froze, transfixed by the gaze of the stranger before me.  My body was far too lean; my servitude had reduced me to muscle and sinew. I gazed into the dark eyes of the man in the mirror and I scarcely knew myself. But he recognized me.

The dark hairs of his arms, chest and belly were matted and slick with sweat. My eyes trailed over fingernail scratches, green against his pale skin, to the dark nest of hair at his loins where his lok stood semi-erect, still glistening with secretions.  Those same fluids, drying now, stickily coated the insides of his thighs and the creases of his groin.

I looked deep into his eyes. This was the sensual lusting primitive Vulcan, who forced his way to freedom every seven years roaring with his madness. He dwelt inside me, denied, held in check, but present. I had always known him and turned away from the knowledge. Nyota had forced me to face him. His instincts were Nyota’s allies, responding to her a bondmate, not a captor. He was unable to deliberately harm her, and the thought of another doing so triggered a rage from deep within him. He was her protector, no matter what it might cost him.

Under his relentless gaze I knew that when she called he hungered to respond.  

The revelations of my own carnality lay around me like a dark cloak when Nyota emerged from the bathroom, showered and refreshed.

She looked at me … at him …. and nodded.

She sat on the bed and lay back, her heels drawn up to her buttocks, knees splayed wide.  I went to her and knelt. As I lowered my mouth to lick, there was a purr of desire in my throat.

**A dark and bitter thing.**

Even within the harsh life of the ISS Enterprise Nyota expressed moments of humour. When Nyota laughed the sensation flowed through our connection like water onto parched soil, making me feel lighter … though I never understood the joke.

Mostly her amusement was a dark and bitter thing like the chocolate she sometimes ate at night.  She would place the dark sliver in her mouth, savoring the taste, then kiss me, spreading the deep melting chocolate over my tongue.

On those nights I knew I would get no rest.

**The closest thing to freedom left.**

I soothe and cradle her mind as she slumbers, quieting her many nightmares to ensure she sleeps long and peacefully.  When she sleeps I have the closest thing to freedom left to me.  In this space I nurture the part of me that refuses to make its peace with servitude and I lay my pIans.  

Sometimes I wonder if she knows, but grants me this small illusion of freedom.

I have learned to take what I can get.

Once my defensive barriers were like towering stone fortifications. They were nothing to her. Her slender tendrils of thought wormed their way through tiny cracks I didn’t know existed. The tendrils thickened, prising apart my defenses until another layer of my mind was exposed.

She burrows through my thoughts, hopes, fears and ideas with endless curiosity. I regularly examine my mind for signs and interference with the same dedicated thoroughness with which she erases every mark I leave on her skin. I have never found an indication that she interferes.  She allows me to remain myself; it is a deep irony.

Sometimes I cross the mind’s bridge and explore the accessible regions of her mind.  She allows me access to the superficial levels, I do not know why. It was here that I glimpsed her intricate meticulous planning and I lost another illusion.  I thought I was unreadable, the inscrutable Vulcan. She always read me like a book.

There are many sections of her mind that I can’t enter, barred by endless thickets of thorn. I marvel at how she has done this. The skill and discipline it shows is humbling. At first I believed this was a poor defense.  Once again I was wrong. I could penetrate the surface of the thicket but before long the thorns embedded in my thoughts, holding me fast. If I tried to force my way through the thorns dug deeper, ripping and scouring until I withdrew in painful defeat.

Nyota has never commented about my incursions or tried to prevent them.

I can change nothing, nor implant any ideas in her mind … I have tried and paid.

 

**We perform flawlessly.**

Now as I work beside Lieutenant Uhura, we are a perfect synergy. We anticipate each other's needs, respond as fast as the speed of thought, our unique abilities melding into something greater than the sum of its parts.

On away teams we perform flawlessly, almost uncannily. Others have noticed.  The Captain was suspicious, fearing a lethal alliance, but time has passed; since no attempt was made against him, he has relaxed, accepting the new status quo with its increased rewards. We are accepted as a pairing … another irony.

 

**The possibility of love.**

As time has passed I’ve achieved acceptance.  It is illogical to rail endlessly against what can’t be changed. A rational being learns to accept his situation and adapt. I remain vigilant and learn from the harsh lessons Nyota teaches. She isn’t the only one who can be patient.

Over time our relationship has changed.  The connection between us is deeper than anything I have ever known but I do not delude myself there is love.

At best it is forced interdependence, propinquity breeding familiarity, lust and, maybe even attachment, out of what the human doctor refers to as “Stockholm syndrome”, but not love.

Strangely, since my servitude began I have realized I believe in the possibility of love, a thing I would have denied when I was free.  Surely for love to exist so must freedom of choice.  I have only what Nyota grants me.  A benign dictator is still a dictator. The only choice I can make freely is obedience or pain.

While it is illogical to regret what has passed and cannot be changed, I find one memory singularly difficult to accept.  At the beginning of our bonding there was one delicately perfect moment when the tendrils of our minds wound together in a caressing embrace and I experienced the revelation of what could be…and now would never be. I mourn that loss. 

To the rest of the Empire I remain the powerful, mysterious Vulcan first officer on the ISS Enterprise, a ruthless man not to be crossed, fortunate to have at his side a formidable consort.

Only we know the truth. I am a slave.

The only end to my servitude is death … hers, or mine.

 

**The true nature of stars.**

Humans speak of stars as benevolent, twinkling lights in the night sky.

I am a scientist. I know the true nature of stars.

They are immutable and unforgiving. A star will seize any wandering planetoid in its gravitational thrall.  One solar flare can wipe out life on the planetary body but without the star’s warmth and light there is only frozen desolation.

Stars are deadly. If you venture too close your layers will be melted away until you are utterly consumed.

The name Nyota means “star”.

 

_Coda_

**_He is mine and I will keep him._ **

I watch him as he sleeps. Once he always stayed vigilant in my presence, but recently, after he has satisfied me, he allows himself to sleep. He is beautiful. He is precious to me – the only thing in this universe that is mine.

He has never asked me, “Why?”

What answer could I give?

I could say I did it for companionship, or control, or maybe simply because, alone among the teeming millions of this universe, _I_ could … each would have a grain of truth.

It’d be foolish to deny sex played a role in my choice, so I might reply: “From the first time I saw you, I wanted you.” That would be true, but not the whole truth.

“I felt a desperate need for something that is truly _mine_.” This would also be a truth. Over time, the need for constant vigilance, coupled with relentless sense of being utterly alone had become insupportable. The isolation and uncertainty of my existence pressed in on me like a madness.

I’d maneuvered to excel in each assignment so I could ascend to the crew of the ISS Enterprise. I needed an isolated Vulcan … my plan wouldn’t have worked otherwise. I knew there was a male Vulcan officer on board the Enterprise. Because there are so few in Starfleet – and they’re so highly prized – there is never more than one Vulcan officer per ship. Starfleet was the best option for me to find a Vulcan isolated from his kind.

I would’ve proceeded no matter what, but I was lucky. The smooth grace of his movements, the precision of his speech and the incisive clarity of his thinking all attracted me.

I had the skills, I had selected my target … I just had to wait for his Time.

I’d spent half a lifetime laying my plans and the opportunity couldn’t have been more perfect when it came. I recognized the signs – but he didn’t. Even so, I almost lost my chance. I’d searched for him frantically, inquiring during each brief pause in the terrorizing of the populace, through the chaos of the occupied city, unable to find him. Pandemonium ruled, people running desperately in all directions. Eventually I discovered he’d left the city for the desert. And then everything fell neatly into place.

One thing I know: he is mine and I will keep him.

 

**The degree of my freedom is directly proportional to his servitude.**

I am a woman of the Empire. I lost my innocence and trust before I knew I had them. The degree of my freedom is directly proportional to his servitude. He cannot betray me or deny me – this is my safety.

Learning to understand Spock’s mind was like learning an intricate and subtle language. I found it endlessly fascinating. As I sifted through his memories I grew more confident and everywhere I travelled I left my embedded tendrils until I until I encrusted his consciousness with my presence.

His body was equally fascinating.

In my world, sex was a weapon I used with the same lethal effect as my knife. Every coupling was a calculated risk. I was always watching for the inevitable betrayal as I planned my own. Now I had the safety and freedom to allow my body to ebb, flow and find its natural rhythms in the ways I _felt_ rather than in service to my mere existence.

I became drunk with lust and sexual power. I used Spock in every way I desired. He was surprisingly naïve, even innocent. I know I shocked him … and I taught him.

Now he surpasses even me. There’s not a centimeter of his skin I haven’t tasted, no part of his body I haven’t used. I’ve felt him arch in ecstasy and cry out as he surrenders himself completely to the demands of his body, and have been intoxicated. I had expected this euphoria to fade – it has not.

Sometimes our coupling is as sinuous and muscular as the mating of two snakes. Writhing, twisting, gripping, biting, as if seeking to consume each other, we plumb the pleasure that lies on the edge of pain.

At other times we lie as gently as strands of kelp on the ocean, feeling gentle undulations swell and recede until our delicate, warm, final blossoming.

I believe that, deeply enmeshed in each other’s minds and bodies, we are as perfectly synchronized as two beings can be. In this respect – if in no other way – we have found a balance.

I take no pleasure in his pain. He has suffered, my stubborn, proud Vulcan. In this, he is illogical and oddly, it makes him dearer to me even as I am forced to show him the error of his choices. I feel no guilt. It is absolutely necessary that there is no corner of him able to resist me. Only with our solid alliance can I know my freedom. If he was a human male he would hate me, but he is a Vulcan. He strives for acceptance but I know he would seize his freedom if he could.

He need only be patient. Humans in Starfleet rarely live long enough to die of old age. No matter – either way, he will outlive me by many long years. When the grip of my mind is finally released and he is alone with the crumpled ruins of his defenses and exposed truths of himself, surrounded by vast echoing empty spaces I have occupied …

I wonder, my poor Spock … what will you do then?

 

The End.

 

**_Vulcan words used_ **

**Note:** All Vulcan words are from the Vulcan Language Dictionary – unless I state that I made them up.

  1. Keshtan-ur: vagina, the passage leading from the opening of the vulva to the cervix of the uterus in female mammals
  2. Pon farr: Time of Mating, the entirety of the Vulcan mating phenomena, generally occurs once every seven years [marriage]
  3. Plak-tau: Blood fever, the final stage of Pon farr, in which the victim is rendered incapacitated and the urge to mate overtakes all reason and logic [VLD spelling]
  4. Remans: the labor caste of the Romulan people. Some, if not all Remans, possess telepathic abilities similar to those shown by Vulcans and Betazoids
  5. Wan’gan and Plesh’e’tar: great Vulcan monasteries and repositories of ancient knowledge [I just made these up]
  6. Ro’fori’kosu’tsat: “secret women’s business” – elemental words follow



Ro’fori: knowledge derived from study, experience, instruction, intelligence or news. [I made this word up]

Kosu: woman

Tast: information known only to a special group: something that should remain hidden from others; something that baffles understanding and cannot be explained.


End file.
